


the dinner date.

by dames_for_jamesbarnes



Series: i stole your heart (and broke it, too) [3]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26554948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dames_for_jamesbarnes/pseuds/dames_for_jamesbarnes
Summary: aaron hotchner is not the target demographic. he knows too much about the behind-the-scenes of this particular place to linger in it, but he is… fond of the bed all the same. there’s something about a hotel bed, the way the sheets feel against his skin, that makes everything feel, at the very least, okay. after all, there’s no personal history in a hotel. there’s only what you wake up to do and fall asleep doing. mistakes left behind for the housekeeping to wash away.and god knows he has a lot of mistakes to wash away.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader
Series: i stole your heart (and broke it, too) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931206
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	the dinner date.

**Author's Note:**

> idea taken from this prompt: https://creativepromptsforwriting.tumblr.com/post/180689664108/prompt-425
> 
> some of the dialogue is taken from the film. i do not own it, obviously.

it’s morning. that what hotch sees when he blinks awake.

there’s an upside to infiltrating a five-star hotel and casino you mean to rob, and that’s that the beds are often perfect, and sunlight comes through the windows at the ideal time of day. early enough that the visitor doesn’t feel like the day is wasted, but late enough to encourage going down to the floor, hitting a couple of rounds after a much-too-expensive brunch. 

aaron hotchner is not the target demographic. he knows too much about the behind-the-scenes of this particular place to linger in it, but he is… fond of the bed all the same. there’s something about a hotel bed, the way the sheets feel against his skin, that makes everything feel, at the very least, okay. after all, there’s no personal history in a hotel. there’s only what you wake up to do and fall asleep doing. mistakes left behind for the housekeeping to wash away.

and god knows he has a lot of mistakes to wash away. 

he sits up. moves to the bathroom, to the shower. dresses in a decent suit, because anything less would make him stand out the same way anything more would, and his job isn’t to stand out. his job is to relax, and observe, and remain behind the scenes until he needs to step in. by the time he looks in the mirror, his armor is on, and the sun is a bit too high in the sky for his liking, but he quickly makes his way to the adjoining room, where dave and some of the others are lingering. 

“what’s the problem?” he immediately asks. because alvez and simmons are here, and they shouldn’t be here. they should be on the floor, causing a distraction, because that’s what they do. that’s the plan. 

“i don’t know, boss. garcia said to wait, so i waited,” alvez tells him, shrugging, which earns him a hit from simmons. 

“oh, so garcia said?” simmons rolls his eyes. “i told you we should’ve gone. you know jareau and lewis are waiting for us.” 

“and get caught? come on, man, that’s stupid -” 

“you’re stupid -” 

“ _hey_ ,” rossi says, firm, and the two of them stop shoving and just glare. hotch just looks between them, finally meeting rossi’s eyes for a casual, silent conversation. 

rossi just smirks. 

_you hired them_. 

yeah. he did. 

he turns to the other person in the room, gives her a steady gaze. “garcia. what’s the problem?” 

she’s fidgety. hands playing with a flamboyant pen that matches her extravagant necklace. she forces herself to stand out, and it’s why her best work is behind the scenes. “foyet doesn’t want anyone touching what he’s got,” she says. “obviously. so the only way for someone to get in is to get me a hardline wired. that way we have control of visual and audio. it gets us a secure and steady in, rather than me having to fight foyet’s firewalls every time i want to change camera angles, or replace a video - “

hotch lifts his hand to stop her. he doesn’t need the details. he just needs to know if it’s feasible. “so. a hardline would get you what you want?” 

“if we want to finish this recon, yes. it’s the only way for me to get all of the sightlines we need.” she looks frustrated, but lifts her chin to look at him anyway, dips it in a nod. “sir.” 

so hotch thinks. he thinks, because he’s the idea man, and when he nods, it makes garcia raise her brow.

“sir?” 

“get changed. you’ll go in yourself. dave will get you a uniform, and you’ll install the hardline. alvez and simmons will provide the distraction, which was their… original goal, and you will go in and get what you need.” 

her eyes widen, and had been progressively growing to the size of dinner plates during his plan. “sir, i’m not… i’m not meant to be out there. in the field. in the casino. i’m supposed to be here, behind my screen, looking from a distance -” 

he offers her some vague reassurance, with a smile and a hand on her shoulder. “and you will be. as soon as you finish, you’ll be back here, but for right now, what we need is that direct wiring into the system, and i don’t trust these two to get what you need.” 

that gets the attention of the men, who both lift their gaze to glare at their boss. but it’s not a real glare, just like hotch’s slight is not a real slight, and eventually it gets sorted. aaron steps back and watches the inevitable happen, watches alvez and simmons shove each other again on their way out the door. he rolls his eyes, looks at dave again, before taking his own leave. 

“where are you going?” rossi asks, moving towards the bar as garcia sits silent. new for her, with the new role, as hotch starts to move out of the room with a purpose. because hotch is through with watching, after a moment, when another plan springs to mind, another moment formulating in hs brain. 

“going to check on lewis, prentiss, and morgan,” he calls back. “and then i have some… business.” 

hotch and rossi work because they have trust. so there’s no questions, just a brow raise, a nod. 

“leave them be, aaron,” rossi calls out after him, which gets no reply. after all, no one else needs to know that it’s not morgan and prentiss and lewis he’s keeping an eye on, and it’s not alvez and simmons he’s tailing. 

leaving hotch to take care of… business. 

-

it’s evening. two days until their plan kicks into action. but hotch’s mind isn’t on the upcoming heist. no. his mind and his eyes are on you. 

after all, prentiss, playing the big spender, has foyet’s attention. alvez and simmons are working the security, the ins and outs of the place, especially after getting garcia settled in.. reid is on foyet, marking his every move, and jareau and garcia are getting the looped footage for the big day. lewis is at one of the tables, dealing good hands, learning that system.

it works. the team _works_. 

because while foyet is preoccupied with satisfying a vital customer, it means that he’s late to dinner. and at 7:16, hotch can see the way your head tilts to the side, just a little, the way your eyes start to scan the restaurant with a purpose. his eyes trace the line of your dress, your back dotted with beauty marks that he once had the privilege to put his lips on. 

a privilege he lost. threw away. tossed aside. 

he comes up from behind. walks with slow, deliberate steps, an unconscious attempt to mirror foyet’s gait, and as he moves close the burden of tension in you shoulders releases. you’re smiling, because your ears lift, ever so slightly, and when you turn to face him he pretends for a moment that it’s all for him. 

“one minute late. for a moment there i thought i’d have to start a search…” 

but the smile’s gone. you see him, and your vision goes a shade of red, surely, because your beautiful smile turns into a mouth agape. brows furrowing, eyes wide. your hand clutches your clutch, nails digging into the bejeweled bag, and hotch tries not to think about how in love with you he is but finds himself falling all over again. 

“…party.” 

he says your name. gently, like it’s the word of god. “i got out,” is what he follows it up with. not exactly the smoothest opening line. 

“you got out?” you’re still shocked to see him, so your voice is weak.

“of prison.” 

realization settles over you like a veil, closing you off. “aaron.” 

his given name. the only person who says it much anymore is dave. but in your mouth, it’s the only one that fits. 

shock turned into realization, which is now morphing into indignation. it plays out like a symphony on your face, and he moves to take a seat on your table, looking towards the waiter. he waves him down. “whiskey, and a whiskey.” he pinches his fingers, showing the sizes he wants, turning back to you with an elbow on the table.

there’s no more vulnerability on you. his eyes trace the line of your dress, meeting your eyes with a smile playing on your lips. 

“it’s good to see you,” he offers, but you don’t take the bait. 

“you shouldn’t be here.” 

“i got parole. as long as i call…” 

“i mean _here_ , aaron. at this table. sitting down.” 

there’s faux and real hurt in his gaze as he sits back, your glasses set in front of the two of you gently. “so. no time for old friends?” 

“believe it or not, the less time spent with you the better.”

you lean back. lounging almost, in your chair, like you belong. your chin is raised, meeting his eyes, defiant, and he just sighs. leaning forward to take a drink of the amber liquid.

he didn’t think it’d be easy. bringing you back to him. but damn, if he didn’t think it would be _easier_. looking you in the eye and realizing he lost so much more than he realized. the room feels like it’s disappearing, and the only thing is the two of you sitting and this table. 

but he pretends. he’s good at that. offers a small smile, a signature of his, and he watches as you tense at the sight that used to bring you so much… comfort. “so you think that foyet is the person who deserves your time? you don’t know who he is. if you think you’re free from a liar and a thief -”

the look you shoot him is nothing short of furious. “i think i’m free from you. and george… george _cares_ about me. which is more than you _ever_ did.” 

he leans back in his seat, too, and looks you over. looks over your dress, the way it shines, the pretty blue, and tries not to reason that you chose blue because he told you once that it was his favorite color on you. because you were more than that now. separate from him. no matter how much he wished it different. 

“the museum upstairs looks great.” his mouth feels dry, but he manages to put something hard in his tone. “tell me, what’s the differnce, between monet and manet?” 

“one that you never bothered to learn,” you quip back, and your hand squeezes your bag just a little bit more. “aaron, you need to _leave_.” 

“and you need to listen. he doesn’t… care about you.” 

“and you’re one to talk about what it means to care about me, right? the expert?” 

aaron doesn’t know how to respond to that. he was hoping there would be some tact, but you’re doing what you’ve always done. getting to the heart of him, pulling down defenses. but he can play that game, too, looks down at your left ring finger. “what happened to your ring?” 

and because he knows you, he sees the look. the glance towards your own hand, the catch of your bottom lip between your teeth. you’re fighting something, and you must win so you can look him in the eyes once again when you say it.

“i sold it. or did you not get the papers?”

the papers. divorce papers. ones he turned over his hands a few times before walking out of the place. “i did. my last day inside.” he smirks with it, and your eyes drop, not looking at him, looking at almost anything else. 

“i told you i’d write,” you finally whisper. with a sigh, you release your clutch, and glance behind you. waiting for a rescue. 

“i’m sorry,” he tries, earnest. he means it. he doesn’t lie anymore, like he told you, but your eyes just roll. 

“i’m sure you are, aaron. but i’m not.” 

he knows he deserves that. and yet he still pushes. leans close. this is a game, the two of you are playing, and he’s good at those. always has been. “i’m here. for you.” 

it’s the truth. bald-faced, almost as much as his lies before this whole mess, and that irony seems to settle with you, your open mouth closing tightly, jaw clenching. 

“you’re a liar, and a thief. i don’t think i should find it a habit to believe what you say.”

“i don’t do that anymore,” aaron sighs out.

“what, steal? get hunted down by the FBI?”

“no. lie to you.”

you scoff. shake your head. “so you just lie to other people to get what you want?”

“i lied to you because you were all i wanted.” he leans forward, and his hand reaches for yours. by some miracle, you don’t pull away immediately, so he can savor it. your hand in his, like old times. “i’ve changed. i’m not putting up a front anymore. this. this is who i am.”

your jaw clenches. you almost seem to think about pulling away - there’s an aborted twitch of your hand, and his hold on you is loose enough, but then… then it stops. your touch lingers.

“y/n. look at me.”

and you do. turn your eyes on him, and he feels bare. he is bare. there’s no walls up, anymore. no more armor. 

“you’re not the person i thought you were,” he says, brow furrowing as you scoff out a laugh. his thumb catches on your knuckle, and your shiver… disgust? “you’re… more. you’re you. please. come with me.”

“no, i’m just not the person you wanted me to be anymore. the girl who knew nothing because she wanted to know nothing.” your hand pulls from his with a sharp twist of your wrist, and he tries not to think too much about the ring he still has on, the one that you sold. “i didn’t ask questions, and that ended up with the FBI on my doorstep. so. i think i’ll pass.”

his eyes close. “i told you, i’m _not_ lying to you. so i would ask you do the same for me.” 

“i’m not lying, aaron. that was your job.” 

he thinks. thinks about you, and foyet, and how it makes his stomach churn. “does he make you laugh?” 

you push forward now, making sure he hears every sound you make. “he doesn’t make me cry.” 

there’s a silence in the heartbreak. so quiet that neither of you notice the new set of footsteps apporaching the table. 

“mr. hotchner. what a… surprise.” 

the voice makes aaron tense, makes you lift your head with a smile that begs him to set you free. 

“george,” you say, and it’s _warm._ he reaches for your shoulder and you don’t tense, you move into the touch. 

“foyet,” hotch adds, and it’s polite. civil. cold. 

“sorry i’m late. i was settling things with an influential guest,” he returns, and when he looks at aaron hotchner, there’s something there that sends hotch a chill down his spine. “i guess i didn’t know we’d be having a guest.” 

hotch lifts from his chair, so that he’s eye to eye with the man. george foyet, in the flesh. he’s shorter, up close and personal, but his presence seems to fill the spot by your side. his grip on your shoulder is firm, and one of your hands has lifted to cover his. 

“george, this is aaron,” you tell him, through your teeth. 

when foyet laughs it’s grating. “i see. the criminal.” and even with, he extends a hand, a hand that aaron takes, shakes with a small smile. “the elusive aaron hotchner. it’s a pleasure.” 

hotch’s mind is racing, thinking of how many millions he is going to pull out from under foyet’s feet. but for now, politeness. charm. “of course. lovely hotel you have.” 

“made all the more beautiful by her,” the man brags, and when he leans down to kiss your cheek you smile, ducking your head. when foyet moves to sit aaron doens’t impede him. doesn’t dare disrupt the dinner. “are you enjoying your stay so far?” 

he is, in a way. but not right now. not as he watches foyet take your hand, stretch your arm across the table, kiss your knuckles. “i am. i was just leaving my own meal when i saw my ex-wife and wanted to… just say hello.” 

“exactly. he was just saying hello,” you agree, and when the two of you meet eyes he doesn’t miss your pleading. 

_leave, aaron. you need to leave._

“exactly. we were simply catching up. thinking about… better days.” 

a dig that earns him a glare from you, but foyet seems unbothered. 

“well, i hope you have a wonderful night, mr. hotchner,” foyet tells him, and it would almost be sincere if not for the fact that his eyes don’t leave you. “i don’t want our appetites to spoil.” 

aaron’s fingers twist around his ring. 

“of course. goodnight, y/n.” 

“goodnight, aaron.” 

hotch leaves the two of you behind. doesn’t look back, even at the sound of your voice lilting in the dining room, the sound of foyet’s arrogance not too far off either. walks quickly towards the stairs, moves up them with purpose, single-minded and not bothering to think about the lanky rookie trailing a distance behind. 

after all, aaron is good at games. he knows how to play. and in the end, isn’t that what a heist is? a game that aaron knows how to win?


End file.
